


That Much Red

by shadesofmidnightsun



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Mind Control, Past Torture, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofmidnightsun/pseuds/shadesofmidnightsun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything was fine, and then New York fell apart. Rebecca lost what little family she had left and survived purely on coincidence, and she didn't know what happened, but there was pain, and favoures to be returned, and his eyes were so green and so dark. How should she find the truth if it never existed?<br/>FINISHED FIC ON FF.NET</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I-Approaching Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Actually, I ship frostiron like crazy, but this story somehow wanted to be Loki/OC (it might have something to do with the fact the idea had started growing in my mind before I saw the Avengers and started shipping frostiron... But I do have a Frostiron story written, too). There is quite some Stark in it, though. As for the OC ... Well, it's hard to say. I've seen like a gazillion of stories where the OC is something special, e.g. special powers, mysterious past, no memories, at least a SHIELD agent ... And I just wanted to let a normal, random girl/woman end up in the whole Avengers-mess, somebody who is there solely by coincidence and has no clue whatsoever, only what little she'd manages to see. Something like that.
> 
> Maybe I should mention I've seen another story somewhere out there where the OC has the same first name and almost the same job, but I swear I didn't copy it, I had the idea before seeing the other fic. I don't know what that story is about; I haven't read it on purpose, so if there somehow happens to be something similar, well, not my fault.
> 
> What else ... If something seems OOC, it's quite possible it will get explained later.

**Chapter I—Approaching Dusk**

_Was the site once of a city great and gay,_

_(So they say)_

_Of our country's very capital, its prince_

_Ages since_

_Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far_

_Peace or war_

 

_~Robert Burns: Love Among the Ruins_

Rebecca could smell fire. Her fear intensified, but she didn't look for flames; there was no time. She heard her own heart hammer past echoing screams, and explosions, and crashes of collapsing buildings. People were teeming like a swarm of bees, only there was no order, just panic dictating their movements. She cursed when she bumped into somebody yet again, staggered, and continued to run, but couldn't blame them; she, too, was just one of the panicked creatures.

The burn in her lungs barely registered. She squinted over her shoulder, expecting another energy blast every moment, then plastered her back against the nearest wall when she saw no immediate threat. She shook her phone furiously, willing it to turn on, _begging_ it to turn on, hoping there was an extra percent of energy left somewhere in the stupid battery that had chosen the worst possible moment to die. But, there wasn't.

She ran.

She didn't quite understand what was happening. These… These aliens had come out of nowhere, sending Manhattan into the air and its residents into frenzy. She only knew she was running the wrong way, towards the chaos instead of away from it—the stream of people had told her so much—but what could she do?

She had to meet her sister and Dean, and now that her phone had died she had no way of changing the location and could only hope they'd be there. In wasn't far anymore. There—she could see the Starbucks sign already.

An extra burst of energy spurred her tired legs. She dashed forward, already there, already pressing her palms against the glass—the only thing that was separating her from Leah—relief already taking over, when her sister screamed. Her voice barely reached Rebecca's ears, but the letter knew it was her name on those lips, and Leah's terror-wide eyes made her turn around—

To see one of those flying things approaching the coffee shop with dangerous speed. Adrenalin, only having her survival in mind, took over, and she half jumped half staggered away, though still looking back, and her eyes landed on a short-ish man, clad in black, who was standing some thirty feet away. The arrow he shot was too fast to see; her mind had reached the conclusion only from seeing his bow and his movements.

The alien ship turned to fly parallel with the buildings, inches away from where she'd been standing, coming towards her.

The arrow hit.

Nothing happened.

Rebecca's jaw was locked tight with fear.

Then—

The arrow exploded.

A raw scream worked its way out of her throat. She was thrown backwards, but she still saw the ship explode and crash into the glassy window. Then, there was another explosion, another, another …

Air was knocked out of Rebecca's lungs when her back met the ground none too gently. The air was knocked out of her lungs even as her lips desperately parted to suck it in again.

Her eyes went wide. A concrete plate towered above her for a second, all jagged edges, small flames somehow clinging to it—

Before it was jerked away as if someone had grabbed it in mid-air and pulled it away, which was, of course, impossible, and yet concrete and metal were floating above her. She saw another ship fly close by, but instead of monsters, there was a man on it, all black with flashes of green, and the concrete _moved_ even as his hand moved …

Finally a breath filled her lungs. Then darkness claimed its toll.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

"I am a god, you dull creature!" He threw his arm out, face contorted in anger. "And I will _not_ be bullied by—"

The world spun much too fast. And then—

He heard the impact more than he felt it. The cracking must have come from the concrete. Maybe. It was all too fast, all _wrong_.

Then—

Nothing. Everything went still. For a moment, he was completely numb. It could not last, though. Pain flared up in his body, and he would have screamed if there was air in his lungs, if he could draw in a breath. It felt like there were spikes driven through his torso, and twisted. Every inch of his back was on fire. His limbs, however. He couldn't move them. Couldn't move anything. Didn't even feel them.

Somehow, he knew his eyes were opened. Whiteness, blackness, it mattered not; he wasn't seeing anything. He wasn't thinking. He just was.

Somehow.

Then finally, finally, he managed to suck in a breath. White hot pain seared his chest. There was nothing but pain. It was all-consuming and ever-present, and there was nothing else.

Until fear.

With fear came realisations. With them, knowledge. He called his magic desperately, pulling it to his body, sending tendons of it into his shattered backbone to repair what he could.

Blacking out was not an option. He needed to know what was happening outside. Control, that was what he needed, especially now when everything seemed to be slipping through his fingers. He needed to be out there to prove things to himself and everybody else. To save himself in every sense of the words. Instead, he was lying in the ground, still unable to move.

Time was running out.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Tony Stark didn't know what had made him come out here. At first, he'd just wanted to be done with it all. Dealing with Loki had been tedious enough after all his energy had been consumed by fighting. He'd stuck around, watching Thor produce some magic handcuffs and SHIELD add a muzzle—why the hell did they even have muzzles?—and then arguing furiously when they'd asked him to let Loki be kept at his place overnight since SHIELD's facilities had been blown up. Tony had been overpowered and eventually agreed to taking Loki to his tower after SHIELD had promised to get him their second and last cage meant for Hulk. There was no gaping hole under this one, but it would have to do, they'd said.

So, he now had a defeated and most likely vengeful God of Mischief and a couple of unnaturally strong guys hanging around, and suddenly the idea of helping to clean up the city didn't sound so bad at all. Steve had been planning to go at first, but leaving Thor as the only guard for Loki seemed unnerving despite the shackles, and the cage, and whatnot. And, Tony had suddenly had a really strong urge to get away from all that.

Not that he was doing much cleaning as it was. It was just him, hiding behind sunglasses and a baseball cap, no armour. Most of the time he just strolled through half-destroyed streets, helping somebody lift a piece of concrete here or there. The police was out, working, the military, the volunteers, pretty much everybody was here. If he looked long enough, he'd probably find Natasha and Clint out here, too. Or maybe, Fury had sent them on vacation …

Darkness was slowly falling, settling over the city that never slept. Maybe it would tonight. Tony couldn't imagine all the bright coloured signs lightening the streets again, or people dancing the night away. They might drink, and drink they would, but not like that. He himself was planning on locking himself in the darkest room his tower had to offer. Somehow, it came as a relief that the streets were now dusky, grey, devoid of their usual pulse. They'd lost lives today; it was only appropriate for the city to mourn.

Ruins filled his vision field wherever he looked. This particular street was no exception. It still looked like any other, even with no people cleaning it, yet. That was part of the reason he'd directed his feet this way. A little silence felt good. A little solitude. It was bad enough he felt like a stranger in his own city, he didn't need the feeling of being surrounded by people and yet completely alone on top of it …

A lone feminine figure in the distance brought his feet to a stop. She was standing amid the ruins, unmoving, distant, staring at what used to be a tall building.

Tony moved to approach her. Something was off, he noticed even as his eyes were sliding over her jean-clad legs and the short, light beige coat hanging around her body. As he got closer, he got a look at her profile, taking in her chocolate brown hair cut in layers, the lower ones interlaced with strands of metal blue—the colour reminded him on the glow of his own arch reactor—and a big grey purse hanging on her shoulder. Then, little more than five feet away, he came to a halt and gently coughed.

The woman spun around slowly. Her eyes were dark, their colour hidden by dusk, and he grudgingly noticed she was just as tall as him, give or take half an inch. And her face, indicating she was somewhere in mid-twenties, looked strangely familiar.

"Are you okay, miss?" Her fingers were gripping the purse too strongly.

She nodded.

"Sure? You look like you've seen better days."

"Seen them all right, Mr Stark."

"And here I thought I was doing a good job hiding. How rude of you to shatter my illusions. But—let's talk about you for a second. You look familiar. Who are you?"

"Rebecca Reed," she answered slowly. He raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

"No, sorry, doesn't ring a bell." Women didn't like this kind of response, but he truly couldn't categorise her name as familiar, even if it did sound like he'd heard it before. That was the trouble with having been with too many women …

"I work for the New York Times."

"Oh."

Really, he had nothing better to say at first. Then, his brow furrowed.

"Just tell me, did we have sex at some point?"

Rebecca only stared at him.

"I'm seriously asking that." Tony was starting to feel more than a little awkward. If they'd had sex, she'd probably smack him within the next five seconds. If they hadn't … Well, it was better to make a fool out of himself now than deal with a pissed off woman later.

"No," she said finally. "You answered some questions once. At a press conference. No sex."

"Oookay. Good to know. You can forget the question now. I just had to ask."

"No worries. Your reputation is quite known."

"Which one?" He curled the corner of his mouth. The woman stared at him again, her gaze bordering on glaring.

"Don't try to flirt with me."

"Ah, it's the bad one then. Well, I should try to convince you to change your opinion …"

"Mr Stark."

That was the only thing she said, but it kicked the shit out of him.

"Sorry. Rough day. You know, the whole save-the-world routine. Not exactly the best psychological stability."

"Ditto to that," she mumbled, looking distressed again. Something was certainly troubling her.

"Not the easiest day for you, too, was it?"

A slight shake of her head was all he got.

"I thought I'd help to put the city back in order," he said for the sake of keeping silence at bay. It felt good talking to somebody who was not connected to the whole superhero thing.

"Not putting much in order right now, hm?"

"No. I think I'm better at founding things. And you, Ms, um, New York Times?"

"Rebecca," she corrected, but her heart wasn't in it; she didn't seem bothered. That was something new in women.

"Rebecca. Why are you out here?"

"I was thinking," she said vaguely, but her eyes, which slipped to the ruins again, betrayed her. Tony pretended not to have noticed. He sighed.

"You can say that again. Today gave us all enough to think about to keep us busy for a dozen years or so. Perhaps I should retire earlier to get sufficient time for it …"

Maybe staring was her substitute for raising eyebrows. No, wait, she finally arched her left eyebrow a little. Very little. Weird facial expressions. He hoped he hadn't said that out loud. Women usually didn't approve of such—

"I don't think you should." She was looking at him earnestly, and he had to swallow a bitter laugh.

"Well, you're one of the few."

She arched an eyebrow. She finally arched an eyebrow!

"Haven't you turned on the TV lately?"

"I saw the destruction with my own eyes." She shifted uncomfortably. "Why would I want to see it again?"

Tony had to admit she had a point there. And she seemed not to be blaming him and the rest of the Avengers for the destruction of Manhattan. She also seemed lost and vulnerable, and while her blue highlights were definitely not his style, she had pretty brown eyes. Before Pepper, he would have taken her out.

"No." She shook her head and offered a small, sad smile. "Maybe I should have watched. But I … um … I haven't been home yet. And, I wanted to know what happened. I was trying to remember … um …" She smiled the same kind of smile again.

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop and actually think about them,

"You can come over for the night if you want."

They only earned him another stare, and it made him want to kick himself. He'd just invited a woman he barely knew over for the night while two of the Avengers were staying with him, Loki was locked up in a cage, Fury was coming over in the morning, and he hadn't even realised his offer had sounded like he was inviting her to his bed until now. But she clearly had. Her eyes suddenly lit up with flames.

"Mr Stark."

This didn't sound good. Then again, he was famous for bad ideas.

"Aren't you supposed to be together with your CEO?"

"Pepper? Yes. Yes. I wasn't asking—look, this just came out wrong, okay? I wanted to make up for my earlier question. I wasn't inviting you to bed or anything."

Her eyes softened and he went on. "I just thought maybe you lived further away and needed somewhere to stay overnight. You can get dinner or something."

Man, he really wasn't good with people. Or relationships. He shouldn't have invited her in the first place. But it would make matters even worse if he withdrew the invitation now, wouldn't it?

"Very kind of you," she said slowly as if she were considering the offer. "Public transportations are a bit of a mess right now, and dinner sounds good. I would like to come. I think."

He managed a quick smile.

Someone should have written a manual on how to stop one's mouth from working faster than the brain. It would be a lifesaver.


	2. Chapter II–Once Down, Twice Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sometimes, there will be suggestions for what music you can listen to while reading. But they will be merely suggestions, if you don't like it, feel free to ignore it (there's an author on this webpage who offered music suggestions-she wrote the Fallen Star series (Loki/Jane), they're awesome-and I really liked the idea). So, yeah ...
> 
> Part II: Goran Bregovic - Underground Tango

**Chapter II–Once Down, Twice Up**

_'Twas deep; so deep of night,_   
_When I saw what I had seen -_   
_So truly deep of night,_   
_When I went where I had been_

_Mark R Slaughter: Night of Nights_

Rebecca couldn't help but gape. Of course, she'd seen Stark tower before, of course, she knew how big it was, but seeing it from the inside, all these floors hiding workshops and offices and—she supposed—actual apartments, walking past ceiling-high windows, selected paintings, and furniture so expensive she could maybe afford a couple pieces with her year's salary, things suddenly seemed much, much more impressive. And, if the fact that she'd always wanted to see it but tried to convince herself she really didn't need to had something to do with it, well, there was no one to point fingers at her.

"Lower floors are meant for project development, then there are offices and conference rooms, and the top is all mine. Well, right now I'm kind of sharing it a little, but it's still mine. Almost as good as my mansion. I had to make sure of that; my working habits are not exactly organised, as you probably know, because everybody somehow knows that, and if you didn't know before, you know now, and I hate to be stuck in a workshop with no food and all …"

Stark rambled on as they took the main elevator up; an enormous cube made of dark glass which looked so much better than the one in Rebecca's home, but really, that was just a some metal put together and this one …

"… but I have to warn you—my, um, residents are unlikely to be very pleased by your presence. Stressful day, still work to do, you understand?"

Rebecca only nodded. Stressful day. She'd awoken in a street, covered with debris, under a big piece of concrete, one side of which was leaning to what was left of a wall, the other side dug in the ground, so that it practically formed a shield over her. It was probably why she was alive now.

Alive. How hard it had been to grasp the meaning of this one simple word. She'd been lying for what seemed like ages, listening, trying to figure out what had been happening, and finally, when nothing but silence had answered, she'd slowly climbed out, rewarded with a view on an empty, demolishes street, remnants of smoke and dust still in the air.

She'd figured she was fine. There'd only been scratches on her skin and cuts in her clothes. Her bag had still been right there, along with a slight pain in the back of her head.

Sometime after that, she'd found out that her pendant had been broken, and the reality of the day's destruction had sunk in. The things itself wasn't anything special; small, made of steel, shaped like a cat with its back sloped and seen from the side. But, Leah had bought it for her after Tiger had died, and Rebecca hadn't taken it off since then. She could feel it lying on her breastbone even now, although now there was only a slightly jagged edge where the tail and hind legs should be, and it irritated her skin a little every time it moved, but she didn't care enough to take it off, and nothing would convince her to do so. It was her connection to Leah, dear Leah, who was no longer here, and not even her body was, because the flyer had exploded right in her face …

The elevator came to a stop and they exited.

"See, this is the private area, only the privileged few are allowed up here … Well, and those wonderful people who make dirt disappear, and—most importantly—food delivery. I would take you to the top, but it's been … redecorated. I should probably proclaim it as modern art and get people to pay for seeing it, a masterpiece called 'Hulk Smash!'"

Rebecca smiled despite herself; he had to just love his own voice, no person who didn't could ramble like this.

"Hulk is the big green … guy?"

She'd come too close to saying monster. Hell, it was human nature to call different beings monsters, but she'd seen that so-called monster take down the aliens, and the question arose who was the real monster there.

"Yes. Too bad Banner's gone, he ran at the first chance he got. Anger management issues. I still think he secretly does Pilates. Say hi to him for me if you ever meet him, he's a nice guy."

She chuckled slightly. It felt so surprisingly good listening to somebody just talk about everything and nothing. But, she really had to ask,

"Do you always talk so much?"

"Yes," snapped a female voice nearby. "Even in his sleep. You should seriously consider that before you go to bed with him."

"Wow, Pep, hold your horses. I'm not gonna sleep with her."

Before Rebecca could ask why everybody kept assuming she wanted to do something with Stark that involved—well, no, a bed wasn't really needed, and removing the clothes wasn't either—that was, plainly put, sex, Stark strode to a good-looking woman with reddish hair and kissed her square on the mouth.

"I missed you," he muttered. "But that was hardly a welcome."

The woman sighed. " _What_ is she doing here, Tony?"

Strak looked almost apologetic, to Rebecca's surprise. His sigh mirrored the woman's one.

"Pepper, you know there's havoc in the city. I found her in the streets. Subway's not functioning. I just offered her a place to sleep."

"Tony …" Pepper shook her head. "That's nice of you, but you must be aware …"

"Relax. It's fine."

Their voices were lowered enough for Rebecca to get the hint. There was something they didn't want her to know, which in turn only made her more curious. Pretending she wasn't trying to eavesdrop, well, in a way, she let her eyes wander over the corridor. There wasn't really anything to see except a small staircase behind Pepper. It was too narrow and insignificant to be the main one. Probably some kind of a personal way.

"Fine." She heard Pepper give in. "But it's your responsibility. Your fault. And I will have words with you later."

"I knew you can be nice." Stark turned back to his guest. "Pep, this is Rebecca Reed." _Ah, so he did remember my name._ "Rebecca, this is Pepper Pots, my CEO."

Their gazes met. Rebecca felt like a rat in a lab, put in a glass box for everyone to study, but it only lasted a moment. Pepper smiled, although it only partly reached her eyes, and said,

"Welcome."

"Thank you. 'm sorry if I'm a bother."

"You're not." Stark. "Not at all. Right Pepper? Hey, where is everybody?"

"Natasha and Clint had to go with SHIELD, as you surely know already. Steve's in the lounge room. Thor is still ... busy."

Rebecca had heard people avoid certain subjects enough times to know when there was more to it. And in this case, it certainly was.

 

~*oO*o*Oo*~

 

Stark had been right; his 'residents' hadn't been particularly glad to see her. Well, they hadn't _actually_ seen her. But she'd heard two hushed masculine voices join Pepper's after the latter had asked Stark to come out for a second and Rebecca'd been left in the lounge room alone. She hadn't been able to make out what they were saying, but something in their tones bordered on frantic from time to time. Not to mention angry.

She hadn't stayed long. Claiming she was tired—and she was, really—she'd got Stark to show her to a guest room (of course it had a bathroom on its own, the rich bastard), where she'd stumbled into the bed and slept soundly, dreamlessly.

Until she'd awoken.

She never had needed a lot of sleep—it must have run in her family—which worked just fine for her, but there were moments when she hated her own body for it. Like now. She didn't want to lie in the dark, wide awake. It always led to thinking, and thinking was as dangerous as jumping off Stark tower without a parachute. Feeling … Feeling was even worse.

She did everything she could. She closed her eyes, lay still, focused on breathing.

Ten deep breaths before she turned onto her side restlessly.

Here we go again.

Finally, Rebecca kicked the covers away. It was no use; she wasn't going to fall back asleep anytime soon, so why not get some air. She wished she could just cross the corridor and find Leah working, and she would silently sit beside her, watching her fingers shoot over the keyboard, like she used to. But this wasn't their apartment.

There was no Leah anymore.

She walked down the hallway, still taking in all the high ceilings and glassy surfaces, searching for a terrace of a kind, when a staircase caught her attention. It didn't look like anything special, but it was the same staircase she'd seen before. It was enough to arouse her curiosity. The night was far from over, and she did not want to lie in the dark and think about Leah until pain consumed her again and she choked on tears. Not here. She felt too vulnerable in this giant tower.

Her steps were almost inaudible, black shoes softly tapping against the stairs. She wasn't even too shocked when she found herself facing glass doors with something that seemed like a pretty good security system. Only, the doors were left open a crack. They slid away soundlessly under the pressure of her fingers, and Rebecca slipped in. Her eyes grew wide at the amount of technology on display; computers, machines, parts of the Iron Man suit, things whose purpose she couldn't guess. Leah might have, but Leah was a computer freak, not technology, and besides—

No. No more thoughts about Leah.

She walked on, halting in front of another door, this one made of metal. Of course it needed a security code, how could it not. She turned away with a sigh. It didn't really matter. Except …

If such incredible things were here, then what was hidden behind this door?

She narrowed her eyes at the dial. They were normal keys, not hologram, which was strange enough. Still, what were the odds of her punching in just the right number? Pretty close to zero. Her fingers lingered over the dial, trembling. She shouldn't be doing her. Stark'd been kind enough to invite her over, and she was trying to find out his secrets.

Well, if he caught her, she could always claim it was all just means to get a story. If the lie didn't die on her lips.

But what would happen if she tried the wrong number?

She couldn't do it. Instead of touching the dial, she laid her palm onto the cold surface of the door—and jumped when it moved. She pressed a little stronger, the door opening yet another crack. Heck, why was the lock even here? Was Stark so sure no one would ever try to get in? So sure he could stop them?

She stopped on her own, though, trying to take in all the computers around her only for a moment before her gaze settled on the obvious, a space on a landing in the middle of the room limited by glass walls. A cage.

Even Tiger would be proud on her soundless steps.

If he wasn't dead. Like everybody else.

A knot tightened in her throat as she ascended the stairs. The heap of black and green she'd seen proved to be a person lying in the middle, curled in a ball, with no place to hide. She stopped just shy of the wall, taking in the clothes and strands of black hair falling over the collar. Recognition kicked in; he'd saved her life.

And, it was confusing her a little whether she should be thankful or whether there was no reason to be so, since the guy had seemed to have a flying thing just like the monsters had, and maybe he'd just wanted that piece of building for an attack, but even if his actions weren't meant to save her, if he hadn't spared her a thought, the fact was she was still alive, and it had been him who'd stopped the concrete just above her body.

Slowly, her feet carried her to the other side, eyes darting over the room before they settled on him again, studying. His face—god, it was pale—was partly hidden behind his arms—his wrists were held together by some sort of handcuffs—strands falling over his forehead in a dishevelled manner. Eyes closed; he seemed to be sleeping. And there was something metallic on his face …

A muzzle. The cruelty of it struck her, and she shuddered. He was a person, not an animal! And yet they'd bound and gagged him, thrown him into a cage like a wild animal. The Avengers, the protectors.

Good and bad were just two sides of the same coin.

But who was he? He looked nothing like the monsters she'd seen attack people. Instead, he looked as human as she, must have been human. So, why had they locked him up? Was he one of the bad guys? What had he done?

She pressed her palm against the glass, more subconsciously than not, just looking at him, as if that would give her all the answers she'd started seeking the last day. Maybe he could. Theoretically. But praxis was a far cry from theory in this case.

She shook her head mentally. Outwardly, he didn't move, not until his eyelids fluttered, and she found herself staring into the greenest, the saddest eyes she'd ever seen. Just a moment, just a look, before his eyes slid close again, but she was frozen in place, wide-eyed, shaken to the core. She hadn't thought anything could disturb her so much, not after she'd lost what little of the family she'd had left, but his gaze had left an imprint on her, one she didn't seem to be able to shake.

Who was he?

What had really happened?

"I just want to know the truth …"

Her voice was barely above a whisper. There was no response, but she didn't dare speak louder, just kept her eyes on him. Was he sleeping again? Was he hurt? Drugged?

He didn't look like someone who'd help monsters destroy Earth. If anything, he looked like a child who desperately needed a hug.

He didn't look like a mad person at all.

Minutes passed before she managed to tear herself away from the cage. She contemplated the whole computer system before she slowly pulled her sleeves over her hands and even more slowly approached it. Her heart was hammering in her throat.

Good and bad, right and wrong—it was all just a blur. Always.

Her hands shook, and she tried to gain control over her fingers, forcing them to come down onto the keyboard.

She wouldn't go as far as to think she'd spent all the sleepless nights beside Leah for a purpose. That would be preposterous, wouldn't it? She wasn't as good as her sister, not at all, but Leah was dead, and she was still alive. And what was the point of pondering the presence or absence of gratitude when her fingers were flying over the keys, when she already found what she was looking for?

Her heart was in an uproar, conscience too, but she did nothing to stop the glass walls from soundlessly slipping away, only went on to wiping out all the traces she'd left behind. Once or twice, she dared to look up, finding the man still curled up on the floor. He was not awake, that was for sure, but she didn't go to him. Switching the system off, she left the way she'd come, ascending the stairs, disappearing into her guest room again, and literally fell onto the bed.

She would think no more. About anything. Not Leah, not the Avengers, not the guy's mesmerizing eyes.

And, certainly not about what she'd just done.

Because she, too, wasn't sure what exactly that was.

She fell asleep, holding on to the remains of her kitten pendant.


	3. Chapter III-The Right to KNow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whole chapter: Uragiri wa Boku no Namae wo Shitteiru–Gisei to Daishou

**Chapter III—The Right to Know**

_It's the coldest night when I will let you_  
Look inside my hell so that you  
Feel the pain that no one can console 

_~Vanilla Ninja: The Coldest Night_

"Rebecca!"

She bolted uprights, eyes wide, the echo of Leah's scream sending her heartbeat into heights. The first thing she saw was a pair of eyes staring at her, and she screamed, trying to push herself away. Moments later, her consciousness awoke, and she offered Pepper Potts what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but the latter didn't seem convinced.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah." Rebecca nodded. "Everything fine here." She yawned.

"If you say so, miss Reed. I just thought … You were screaming in your sleep."

"Was I?" She pushed the covers aside, unable to remember the dream, except for that one piercing scream. But she didn't have to; she knew the story.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Coffee … Yeah, thank you. Miss Potts."

She got up, stuffed her cell phone into her pocket out of habit, took her bag, and followed Pepper, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She was absolutely not a fan of company in the morning. All she truly wanted was to be left alone, left to mourn, but she couldn't, not here, and coffee sounded like a pretty good alternative. And then there was the thing she'd done during the night …

She swallowed. Either Pepper didn't know, or nobody knew yet, or they were all trying to conceal it.

The view from the Stark tower was rather enjoyable, she had to admit. But the ruins she saw …

She looked away, directing her gaze towards Pepper, who was making coffee. It smelled good. Like home.

Did she even have a home now? Or, had it been crushed like so many other places? When she'd walk out of here, would she have a place to go?

"Uh, coffee, smells good, Pepper."

Rebecca straightened as Stark's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. The latter hadn't even entered the room yet, though she was sure he was going to.

"By the way, Fury's bringing the Tesseract around, so Thor can get Loki to Asgard and—what are you doing here?"

"Miss Potts offered me coffee." Her mouth suddenly felt very dry.

"Am I the only one here who's suffering because of being awake at such an early hour?" He walked over to Pepper. "You do have some extra of this stuff, right?"

She nodded and started pouring the liquid into cups. Rebecca suddenly started feeling odd, sitting there, waiting to be served. She suppressed another yawn and walked to the counter.

"You're a lifesaver," she mumbled as Pepper handed her her cup, then smiled weakly at Stark. "I'm not a morning person, really." Which was funny, considering her small amounts of sleep.

Inhaling, she let the rich aroma feel her nose. Pepper whispered something to Stark. Something important?

"Who's Fury?" Rebecca blurted. "And what's a tesser-something?"

All she got was a raised eyebrow, so she searched for her journalist-composure and tried again.

"Mr Stark, society is shocked beyond belief. As a member of the superhero team, you should be able to reassure it with some extra explanation. To give people something concrete to hold on to?"

"I'm afraid you would only have more nightmares."

Before she could help it, her fingers travelled up to close around the pendant.

"Nightmares or not, I want to know what happened. This was not an experiment gone bad or machines built to fight, there were monsters out there! Real monsters! Who killed people! Don't you think they—we—have the right to know what really happened?"

Her thumb traced the metal, expecting to touch the jagged side in a moment, but when it got there the line continued. Incredulous, she brought it up to her face, gaze turning down.

"So, you want to know the truth?"

She nodded absent-mindedly just before her eyes landed on her pendant. They went wide. The cat was whole, looking as sleek as ever, the surface smooth except for a line on the backside, and she turned it around, unable to believe, gaping at tiny engraved letters.

_There is no truth._

Her coffee-cup crashed onto the floor. She felt gazes burning her skin, but couldn't move, couldn't tear her eyes away. Couldn't believe. And then, half a moment later, an unimaginable source slammed against her, not physically but on the inside, in her chest, emotions exploding in her heart and passing so fast it was all a blur, screaming of a dark, dark place. Before she knew it, it was over, the onslaught leaving her overwhelmed with traces of confusion, anger, fear, heartbreaking loneliness, stubborn determination, and hatred as dark as night, sadness and regrets, and pain, so much pain that it felt like an iron hand was squeezing her heart and it was hard to breathe.

She felt gazes boring into her, felt hands shake her by the shoulders, and blinked at Pepper.

"Sorry, I ... got lost in my thoughts for a sec," she mumbled half-heartedly. Suddenly, she felt so weak, so exhausted from everything, that she wished nothing but to be able to curl in a dark corner and cry her eyes out; she had no more strength to fight her own pain. And yet, and yet compared to the blast she'd just experienced, the rush of everything at once … that had felt worse, too much to handle, too much at once, too concentrated …

"Stark, am I interrupting something?"

Rebecca's head snapped up. Standing at the door was a dark man with an eye patch, clad in black, a silver suitcase in his hand.

"Fury," Stark addressed him with a smirk. "Why would you ever think so? Thor should be here soon enough, and in the meantime … I have an overly enthusiastic journalist to take care of."

Rebecca managed to glare at him, despite her inward struggle for every single breath. Her fingers closed around the pendant in search for comfort. The backside was smooth as glass again, and when she looked, there were no traces of words left, nothing that would indicate they'd ever been there. But, she knew what she'd seen even though she didn't understand. If it made sense or not, she felt like she'd gotten an answer to a question she couldn't quite grasp, something she was looking for but hadn't been aware of it, because she didn't yet know what to do with it or where to place it.

"To answer you, Mr Stark—there is no truth, only different sides of one story. I only want an explanation. What I had left of my family is gone, I'm not sure I even have a home to return to, and I can't understand most of the things that have happened in the last twenty-four hours. Manhattan was full of monsters coming out of a hole in the sky, and people doing things a normal person shouldn't be able to do. I'm not talking about wearing tights or genetic experiments gone bad—or right—I'm talking about the impossible. People can't summon lightning, or make concrete float in midair, or fly by being pulled by a hammer. They can't."

She tucked a couple of chocolate brown strands behind her ear and stared at Stark, daring him to speak, daring him to dismiss her words as delusions. But, it was Fury who answered.

"Miss, these are things you have no need or right to know."

"So we, mere mortals," she snapped at him, "have no right to know what happened? We're to be left to fear something we don't even know?"

"You have no need to fear." His voice was even. "The Avengers will protect you."

"Oh. Like they protected us when one of their own shot arrows into monsters flying past a building full of people, and the explosion was so strong it ripped the building apart, killing the people right with it? My sister died in there! And her boyfriend, and I would have, too, if … if …"

"If?" Pepper asked softly, probably supposing she'd be thankful for the encouragement. But, the truth got stuck in her throat.

"If I'd been in there. I was seconds from entering, we were supposed to meet there, and …"

She took a deep breath, willing the images away.

"People are suffering. They deserve more than this."

"Sometimes, the truth will only do more harm than good," Fury said slowly.

"So, you won't tell me." Her gaze travelled to each and every one of them. "You won't tell me anything. Such heroes you are. In the end, you're no better than everyone else. You, too, are selfish. You, too, kill. You, too, treat others like animals."

Glaring daggers but not sparing them another look, she left the room, striding past two more guys just beside the door, and punched the button on the closest elevator. The doors slid apart and closed behind her, and she allowed herself to sink onto the ground.

Breathe in, breathe out.

The elevator began moving, and Rebecca buried her face in her hands. She needed a quiet, peaceful space to think, to cry, to pull herself together. There was a knot in her stomach, a leaden weight pressing onto her chest. Pain. That sudden, illogical burst of emotions, the origin of which she was clueless about, but one thing she knew: as much as she was hurting, that pain had not been her own.

The elevator came to a stop, and she looked up. It was too sudden. Before she could even narrow her eyes suspiciously, everything went dark. The next moment, she was on her feet, frantically searching for the alarm button, but she couldn't see, and no matter what she pressed, nothing happened. The thing must have been cut short of electricity, and she was trapped in a dark, metal cube with seemingly no way out. Her cell phone was still dead. Well, she'd hardly had time to charge it since yesterday.

She took another breath.

Screamed for help.

And paused. Maybe they'd heard her. But when nothing happened, when there was no response, panic found its way into her mind. Like a caged animal, she started pacing up and down, screaming, slamming her fists against the walls. Afraid. Alone. Not even knowing what kind of a fight she was trying to prolong, only that she could never win.

Hurting.

And then the elevator jerked. Stopped for a second. Something snapped, and it plummeted.

Rebecca screamed on top of her voice, feeling like all the air had been punched out of her just a moment later. She was going to die, she was going to die, she was going to die!

But maybe, maybe she would see Leah again, and her parents, and if she were to die, the hurt would go away. Panic surged through her, but she wasn't given a chance to decide whether death was more repulsive or appealing; the elevator slowed down, jerked once, twice, then kept going down slowly.

She released a breath and sank onto the floor.

No more.

She could take no more.


	4. Chapter 4: The Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II: Max Richter—Sarajevo (just leave if for part III, too)

**Chapter IV—The Tide**

_And all my colours fade away_   
_It overshadows my whole life_   
_This broken melody_   
_Black symphony_

_~Vanilla Ninja: Black Symphony_

"Hey, Stark, what was that all about?"

"What was what?" He barely glanced at Steve.

"That woman."

He mentally rolled his eyes. "What did it look like?"

"An angry woman?"

"Exactly. Hey, Thor, are your women like that, too?"

The thunder god muttered something unintelligible under his breath. He wasn't interested in the discussions, not about Asgardian women, not mortal women, not anything. Loki was walking half a step behind him, Tony half a step in front with Steve, leading the group, Fury trailing in the back like a watchful shadow.

"Just leave him," Tony said, frowning as he felt Loki tug at his sleeve to get his attention, and he pulled away effortlessly; the trickster didn't even try to hold it, but he did reach for it once more. Tony pulled away again.

"Look, fella, if you're trying to annoy the hell out of me, it won't work, so why don't you just walk along, hum?"

Of course, he got no answer. But Loki also didn't reach for him again, and he turned his attention back to Steve. As much as he'd prefer talking to Pepper or Banner, none of them were here at the moment, and Steve seemed to be the best choice.

"You were saying?"

"I asked why we hadn't used this elevator here to go down instead of walking to the other one. It's much closer."

"Oh, this one's not working. I keep forgetting to fix it." He waved his hand dismissively, but Steve only frowned.

"It's not? The woman got in it. It seemed to be working. It closed and took off and all that."

"Well, it's not working." Tony pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "So, either it miraculously made its way down, or I've got an annoying journalist stuck in my elevator …"

He crossed the remaining few feet that were separating him from the door, frowned at it and started to say something, but before he got the chance, a loud rumble came from behind the door. For a moment, they were all still and silent, then Tony turned to Thor.

"Would you mind punching this door open?"

He didn't mind. Within seconds, the door was history, and they got to see a young woman curled up next to the back wall, knees pulled to her chest, arms hugging them, face buried in the hole in between. Slowly, her whole body shaking, she looked up, pale and dishevelled, and her wide eyes flicked from one of them to another, but when they finally settled, it wasn't them she was looking at; her gaze was directed past the little group, and Tony turned to follow it only to find himself looking at Loki, who was sitting with his back against the wall, eyes closed, and whose skin seemed even paler than usual. Whatever he was up to, they could deal with later. He turned back to the Reed girl.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Rebecca saw his eyes slide close. But, she'd caught his gaze for a heartbeat, and suddenly she _knew._

It had been his answer. Of all the men she'd begged, he was the only one to reply, answer her silent plea for something to hold on to, answered when she hadn't even formed the question. Somehow, he'd shown her his part of the story, in a way that had gone deeper, touched her more intimately than any words could ever do.

That was when her tears fell.

It all came back—she could remember clearly—only worse, so much worse, for now she knew, and her heart was breaking, not with foreign emotions, not with her own loss, but for him, for his despair, his pain, the sadness in his eyes, even though she didn't know who he was, and nothing made sense anymore.

She dug her fingers into the fabric of her T-shirt right above her heart in a despaired attempt to … She didn't even know, only felt like she was coming apart, piece by piece. Darkness and pain were pulling her in. The bright spots were so rare, so few, and even then dimmed by pain. In its core, every single emotion held pain …

She was weeping now, shaking, unable to push it all away, unwilling to even try. Because despite the pounding in her head, crying felt liberating; it used up her energy, poured out her frustration, channelled out something dark, something poisonous that flitted into her chest every now and then.

It was so hard to care about anything. The burning gazes on her seemed insignificant. She felt them even though she wasn't looking, hiding her face in her palms as she was. There was nothing to look for, except maybe his eyes, but if she saw that sorrow again, locked behind his gaze …

She was falling apart, sobbing, just sobbing, not only because of him but for him, the tears he hadn't shed and never would, she somehow knew, like she knew him in a way so intimate it would scare her had she room for thoughts left, and yet knew nothing about him.

She cried, for minutes, hours, years, she couldn't tell, until arms closed around her shoulders, and she looked up at a man with neat blond hair and symmetrical features who tried to pull her on her feet. But, she couldn't find the strength to get up. Tears were streaming down her face, eyes flitting around. She was lost, like a ship without an anchor, left at the mercy of the currents. Somewhere in this whirl, her gaze found a pair of brilliant green eyes, muscles around them tense, an urge inside them, a command, a pull, a plea so strong she couldn't ignore it.

She was standing now, although she could hardly feel her legs, supported by the man. Something was wrong with her; her body didn't feel right, she felt lightheaded, dark dots clouded her vision, and yet in the back of her mind she knew she was putting one foot in front of the other, slowly. Her gaze never left his eyes; her world was narrowing down to them. And suddenly, they rolled back, and eyelids slid over them, and he slumped onto a side.

She was left standing, disconnected from her body, hurting, and without a single thing to hold on to.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Tony's eyes narrowed at Steve and Rebecca as the former was trying to lead the latter out of the elevator. He was thankful Steve had gone to her. She needed comfort, and he himself was bad at that. Probably, Thor was, too. Fury, he didn't even have to consider.

He stepped forward, planning to enter the elevator right after they'd left it, but he never got the chance. The moment their feet left the floor of the steel cube, the elevator plummeted down. Just like that, without a warning. A crash followed when it collided with the ground on the lowest cellar level.

Tony stared into the dark hole with wide eyes and let out a breath. Rebecca's gaze had gone blank. The inventor stepped forward.

"It's okay now," he said.

She shook her head.

He opened his mouth to speak—

"Loki." Thor's voice. "Loki?"

Stark turned. The god of thunder was kneeling beside his brother, shaking his limp body. It didn't seem to help.

"Loki!"

Fury and Tony were at their side a moment later.

"What is he trying to do now?" grumbled the director. Thor glared at him.

" _He_ is not trying to do anything. _I_ am trying to make him come to." He grabbed Loki's chin with one hand and forced his eyelids open with the other. Loki's eyes were unfocused, and Thor let them close again. He sighed.

"I can't take him to Asgard, now. I need him to be conscious, at least."

"That's just great." Tony rolled his eyes. "So, I get to play a host for a while longer."

"Why did he even faint?" asked Steve, still supporting Rebecca. She seemed to be standing all right but still looked lost. She'd stopped sobbing, though, only silent tears kept slipping down her smooth cheeks.

"Why don't you ask Thor?" shrugged Stark. "He's an Asgardian, not me."

"Well, I don't—"

"What have you done to him?"

Rebecca's voice was weak, yet they all turned. She was staring at them, a strange look in her eyes. Her right hand was still gripping the fabric over her heart.

" _We_ 've done nothing. _He_ collapsed," Tony mimicked Thor's manner of speech, but Rebecca's eyes bored into him and she repeated, as quietly as the first time,

"What have you done to him?"


	5. Job Descriptions

**Chapter V—Job Descriptions**

_All knowledge hurts._   
_~Cassandra Clare:City of Bones_

Slowly, she opened her eyes. She was lying on a bed, and somebody had taken off her shoes, which, she noticed, were neatly placed on the floor. She was in her guest room again, and it looked exactly the same as before.

Only, she was not the same.

Thoughts were swirling in her head, restless, so many she didn't even know where to begin, but then, like jigsaw pieces, they started falling into place even as her mind struggled to go through it methodically.

The man with green eyes—they'd called him Loki, hadn't they?

He was the reason she was still alive. But—the Avengers were the saviours of the city, and if they were holding him captive, he must have fought on the wrong side. He had to be an enemy. And, when she replayed the scene from a day ago in her mind, ignoring the pain that came with it, she was almost certain his actions had not been fuelled by the intent to save her life. The result, however, was undeniable. She'd owned him.

And repaid. Opened the cage. He must have stayed, though, or else the Avengers wouldn't be leading him who-knows-where. Why he'd done so was beyond her.

Maybe he'd been too tired. He'd seemed tired. And, he'd collapsed later. They'd defeated him; probably he'd been injured in the process. Or later—she cringed at the thought. Or, he had some other plans.

He wasn't human. Not a normal human, at least. It was hard to say how she knew the assault of feelings had been his doing, but when she'd looked into his eyes, she'd known. They went together, the pain and his impossibly green gaze.

It must have been some kind of a supernatural ability. Maybe he could put thoughts into other people's heads. Or rather, feelings. But, that didn't explain her pendant, did it now? It must have been something else then, some other power.

And all the emotions … If they were his answer, then it must have been what he'd felt during whatever events had occurred, right?

Curiosity burned inside her.

The Avengers must have deemed the guy, Loki, dangerous if they'd restrained him in such a way. Handcuffs made sense, it seemed, but the muzzle? She shuddered. It was like saying his words were not worthy of being heard, that he did not deserve a right to his opinion. Was that why he didn't answer with words, because no one thought them worthy of their attention, or was it because he couldn't do it? Because she wouldn't have believed him? Because things she'd get to hear would have been bad?

He was a bad guy, right?

Must have been.

She bit her lip.

What use were her thoughts when she could find nothing but compassion and sorrow for him in her heart?

She started pacing, restlessness tugging at her. She was lacking information, pieces of her puzzle were missing, and without them, she couldn't see the picture. A part of her feared she might fill these holes herself if she didn't get the answers soon; she wasn't sure a distorted picture would bother her, and this was wrong. She'd always been the one to sniff out the truth, she _could not_ be satisfied with anything less.

Rebecca pulled her dead phone out of her pocket and stepped towards the nightstand, but her movement was too rash, careless, and, before she knew it, she yelped in pain and limped away from the damn piece of furniture, her toe throbbing with pain. Cruses, albeit pretty mild, rolled off her tongue.

There was a knock on the door. Pepper's head appeared a moment later.

"Why is it that I'm always lured to your room by screams?"

Rebecca shot her a look.

"I hit my toe."

Pepper slipped into the room, although no invitation had come. Rebecca didn't object. Pepper was all right, as far as she knew. She wasn't sure what to make of the concerned look she was getting, though.

"How are you feeling?" Miss Potts sat down on the chair while Rebecca crashed onto the bed, crossing her legs in an almost perfect lotus position.

"Alive?" She shrugged. "How did I get in here?"

"Steve brought you."

"Oh …" She remembered being carried vaguely, but it was all a blur. "The man with green eyes ... His name's Loki?"

"I haven't studied Loki's eye colour," Pepper said, "but if you mean the one with black hair, pale skin, and weird clothes, then yes, it's Loki."

Rebecca nodded. Her eyes were resting on her feet while she tasted the name in her mind. Loki. It didn't sound familiar. Thor did, though. She couldn't place it, but she was almost certain Stark had said Thor, and there was something about that name …

"Can you tell me what really happened yesterday?"

"A lot of things happened. But … Are you all right? You seem a little pale?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." It was a lot easier to say that than even begin to explain the truth. Besides, she had a feeling certain parts of it were better where they were right now—hidden in the depths of her mind.

"Are you sure? You can talk to me about it. If you want. It might make you feel better."

"Why should I talk to _you_ if you won't tell _me_ anything?"

"It's not up to me to decide what to do with the information."

"Yeah. Sure. They don't allow you, whoever they are, I get it. But, what do they want, that I sneak around and find everything out myself?"

Pepper's expression suddenly hardened. "I doubt you could even if you tried. Tony is a master with computers."

Rebecca had to suppress a smirk. Well, either she was totally underestimating herself, or he thought too highly of himself. She let her shoulders slump.

"Yeah …"

"Hey … It'll be okay, you'll see. I know it's hard to lose a person you love, but you'll come around."

Rebecca swallowed. She hoped the words to be true, almost willed them to be. But, she wasn't sure. She knew loss; both her parents had died a while ago, and she'd come to know mourning like she knew her own face. But, she'd also learned to live around it. And while she knew her sister's death was affecting her, it wasn't all.

"It feels like …"

Like something had shattered inside her. Like she'd lost something for good …

"I'm sorry for your loss. It's hard, knowing that so many innocent people died."

Innocence. That was it.

Her innocence was gone.

"Look." Pepper leaned closer and reached out with her hand to touch Rebecca's shoulder. "I'll find Tony. I'll ask him to explain things to you, okay?"

Rebecca nodded. She didn't think Pepper could change much. But then again, she was Stark's girlfriend, so maybe …

Rebecca watched the doors close. Her gaze lingered on the wooden surface for a few second before she jumped off the bed, put on her shoes, and followed as silently as she could just in time to see Pepper enter the lounge room. She pressed herself against the door frame, hidden from their view, and listened.

"How's Miss New York Times?" Stark's voice.

"Not so good, I'm afraid."

"But, she's better than before?" Steve. "After the episode with the elevator, she didn't seem present at all."

"The elevator …" She would bet Stark frowned. "That was a strange business. I checked it. It was already broken before Loki's attack …"

_Loki's attack._

"… It was sheer luck it made it down. The ropes snapped. By themselves, or at least it looked like it. They weren't cut, that's for sure, and I see no reason why someone would bother cutting the ropes of an elevator that is not used anyway."

"So, how is this strange?"

"Don't you think it is at least a bit curious that the elevator plummeted the moment you two got out of it?"

"Well, yes, but it must have been a coincidence. Loki can't use his powers, and I don't think there's anyone else here who would have … You know."

"I know. But our dear Snow White is wicked. Gives you creeps."

Rebecca pressed herself even closer, whishing she could enter. She was almost sure there were only three of them in the room: Stark, Steve, and Pepper.

"Tell me about it." Steve sighed. "But I didn't know gods could faint."

Gods?

"I'm not a god expert, but it seems they can. Fury sent one of his doctors over. To check for internal injuries and that kind of stuff. And Thor insisted we don't put him in the cage anymore. So, now I have an occupant in my armour-testing room. Well, it's not like he can break those walls. You think we should tell New York Times he has a bed, so she won't glare at us anymore? Seriously, you guys should have seen the way she stared when she asked what we'd done to him. It was like she was accusing us of torture or something."

"The muzzle does look a little … exaggerated," Pepper finally spoke again.

Stark snorted. "Pep, his words are as dangerous as Magpie's arrows; they always hit the target."

"I suppose you're right." Pepper sighed. "And, I know that now. But, Rebecca _doesn't_ know. Meaning she can't understand. That's why I'd like you to explain things to her."

"Pep, she's a journalist."

The way he said it, one would think that was an answer enough.

"So?"

"So, you know what kind of people they are. She'll write an article, and information will be twisted, and chewed, and spit out. Either she'll claim we're all crazy, or that we're lying, or desire to conceal the truth, or who knows what. Then other journalists will read it and twist _that_. We can't trust her."

"Media sure got corrupted," Steve remarked, but Pepper was quick to counter him.

"Not all journalists are like that."

"Enough of them are," Stark said abruptly. "Feeling sorry for her is not a reason to trust her. We're not telling anything."

Rebecca swallowed. A knot had tightened in the pit of her stomach and her eyes stung. She wanted to burst into the room, scream, make Stark eat all those hurtful words, but she pressed a hand over her mouth and tore herself away from the door.

Staying quiet was hard. The impulse to run, to slam the doors behind her, felt like a white-hot flame raging in her veins. She was clenching and unclenching her fists all the way to her room, winning against the temptation to slam the door again. Instead, she pressed her back against it, and her body slid to the ground like a broken puppet. She kicked the shoes off her feet with a broken sigh. If only she could decide between raging and giving in to the hurt …

The unfairness of Stark's judgement stung like acid. He had no right. No right—

She slammed her heel against the floor—the carpet muffled the sound. For the first time she felt overwhelmed. Her fists tightened even as tears slipped down her cheeks.

Well then, if Stark thought so lowly of her, why not get her revenge and do exactly what he feared she would? Damned be him and his computers, she'd dug out information before and she would do it again.

Rebecca wiped her tears away, got up, and pulled her computer out of her bag. She climbed onto the bed. The laptop came alive under her fingers, windows popping up after she'd impatiently clicked on the internet icon too many times.

"Thor" sounded too familiar. She must have heard it before, but since she hadn't known him, she couldn't have heard his name mentioned in person.

She tipped the letters in, Google spit out the results, and her eyes went wide. Slowly, a knot tightened in her throat.

Norse mythology.

God of Thunder.

Son of Odin.

Mjolnir.

Asgard.

Deity, deity, deity.

Her teeth pierced her lower lip. Usually, she would have reminded herself she should really stop chewing it so often, but now it hardly registered. For some reason, it was so hard to force herself to read. Even though this was stuff she needed to know. But—

But …

She returned to homepage.

Her forefinger fell onto the letter L on the keyboard.

She kept molesting her bleeding lip.

Her hands remained in the air, hovering over the keys, while her fingers trembled so hard she was afraid she'd miss the right keys if she actually tried to type them.

Her eyes focused on the 'o', her gaze so intense it seemed it was about to burn a hole through it. But, her hand remained where it was.

If Thor was the god of thunder, there was no telling who the other guy was, or what he could do. What _else_ he could do.

As if he hadn't done enough already. The knowledge of his pain was pressing on her, an invisible weight she had to carry not on her shoulders but in her heart.

Her chest was aching. Aching around a bud that was starting to flourish, tendrils of resentment slowly growing out of their shell. But, like thorns on a rose, there was something darker attached to them. Hatred. She was beginning to hate him for the burden he'd inflicted on her.

Rebecca felt her heart slam against her breastbone. Once. Twice.

And typed in the remaining three letters. She was practically glaring at the screen, her eyes scanning the first results before she settled for Wikipedia as a starting point. And she read, for hours, her eyebrows rising and falling, brow furrowing, teeth twisting her lips, without tearing her eyes away for a second. Something was stirring in her chest, like a dark, thick liquid were flowing through it instead of her own blood, and it carried emotions just as dark.

She'd been a fool. Loki was the god of mischief and lies and deception, a trickster, a troublemaker, and she'd been played.

It burned.

He hadn't wanted to help her. He'd just wanted a way to escape, and her sympathy had been strong enough that she would probably have helped him, if only just to get back on the whole Avengers group for not telling her.

Well, his plan had just been ruined. She would be nobody's puppet. And, she'd write something that would knock Stark on his ass.

There was a knock on her door, and she slammed the computer shut.


	6. Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry, this chapter is a bit shorter, but it's kinda a separate unit.
> 
> Music: Thor—Crisis in Asgard. If you wish.

**Chapter VI—Ashes**

_And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd,_

_And strength by limping sway disabled,_

_And art made tongue-tied by authority,_

_And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,_

_And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,_

_And captive good attending captain ill:_

_Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone_

_~Shakespeare: Sonnet LXVI_

Loki thought his body was on fire. He wanted to scream, but the only thing that came out of his mouth were pained moans stifled by the muzzle; to anyone around him, he was silent. His muscles yearned to move, to make him squirm as they contracted, yet it seemed his body was somehow frozen in place, limbs too heavy to move, movement demanding too much effort, strength he didn't have …

Maybe he was trembling, he couldn't tell. Everything just kept getting worse and worse, but he knew this was nothing yet; he was still aware. He could tell his fever was slowly rising, and just as slowly, he was losing control of his breathing, although the sharper his inhales got the more his broken— _crashed_ — ribs hurt.

He wasn't healing. Without his magic, it would take ages. His own magic, which was now working against him, slowly burning his body, tearing tissue apart.

He'd thought if the shackles were supposed to keep his magic at bay, that they would prevent him from using it. Which they did. In a way. It had been so hard to reach for the spells, so exhausting to use them. But, he could do it. If he really, really wanted. The only thing the handcuffs seemed to be doing was keeping magic locked inside of him—he knew that, now. But, magic was just a form of energy, and like any other energy every time one used it some of it slipped away, got lost. He'd heard mortals speak about the energy loss when transforming or transporting it, and although the snippets of magic that escaped him were much, much smaller, not even worth mentioning under normal circumstances, the principle was the same. But this time—this time it had taken a lot more effort to conjure a spell, a lot more energy had been wasted, and instead of it dissipating in space, the shackles had kept it inside of his body, energy that needed an outlet, but had none.

It'd started with unconsciousness. Then, pain in every part of his body that was gradually increasing. Fever. More pain.

His focus faltered. Somewhat. He kept his eyes closed.

Thor was with him along with a man Loki had never seen before, but who'd proven to be some sort of a doctor. He'd figured out the broken-and-cracked-ribs part well enough. But then, they didn't know how to proceed.

There were tubes attached to the needle piercing the skin of his right elbow, transparent liquid dripping through. He didn't like the idea of having anything put into his body, but he couldn't fight it. Thor had said it would help. Not that that meant anything.

He heard the doctor say his fever was somewhat concerning, but nothing to fret about. If it didn't rise. They put something cold and wet on his forehead and continued to murmur something he couldn't make out. He heard the doctor leave, though.

Idiots. Loki could have told them what to do in a second. He just needed them to remove the damn handcuffs, only for a minute, and he would be fine. Well, on a second thought, he would be less bad. "Fine" didn't really exist in his vocabulary right now.

But, they wouldn't let him speak. Even now, when they knew something was wrong. They didn't bother asking him what it was, or where he was hurting, or anything else. He would have been expecting this from the doctor or the Avengers, but fromThor, that thick-headed fool who struggled to believe in him despite everything?

He didn't need believes, not Thor's, not anybody's. It didn't matter what Thor did or didn't do.

A knife twisted inside of Loki's stomach—or so it felt. He must have jerked a bit, for Thor's eyes fell upon him, and then the Thunder God sighed and placed his hand over Loki's.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled the latter's attention away from Thor. Two sets of footsteps, but only one continued into the room.

Loki didn't move. If he waited for half a minute at most, the identity of the newcomer would be revealed.

"Is he aware?"

Tony Stark. That was fast.

"I'm not sure," replied Thor. "Why?"

_Yes, why indeed?_

"Pep kept bugging me to tell Miss NY Times. Which I'm not doing. She's a journalist, you know."

"So?"

Did Thor even know what a journalist was?

"Um, they're poison. Destroy you with their words."

"Like Loki?" Thor sounded puzzled, and Loki would have smirked if it wasn't for another gut-twisting gush of pain in his chest.

"Well … No. But—ah, it doesn't matter. Look, Pep agreed she'd stop bugging me if I let NY Times see we're treating Reindeer Games okay. So, I brought her down here. And, she said she'd stop being annoying, too, if I let her talk to him."

Thor didn't answer right away. "I don't like the idea."

No, of course he wouldn't. After all, Loki was sooo very dangerous, even bound and gagged and being torn apart by his own magic …

"Not the only one, big guy. But, he seems a little low on energy. Besides, if she talks and he doesn't, he can't do anything, right? There are cameras just to be sure. And, you can stand right behind the door."

Loki imagined slamming the man against the nearest wall. It was one thing knowing how (in)capable of hurting somebody he was, but it was another thing hearing Tony Stark list all the reasons why he was seemingly helpless. On second thought, he could slam the man against the wall. But, considering the extra amount of pain it would cause him, he abandoned the idea. For now.

"Come on, we shouldn't keep a lady waiting."

Thor grumbled something that sounded like an agreement. Footsteps followed again, this time leaving, and Loki heard the door open then close again. Silence settled over the room. He would have thought he was alone, judging by the lack of any sound, but he knew better.

Her presence was far from tangible, with his senses dulled and all, but he knew she was there, staring, waiting. Slowly, he forced his eyelids open. It was hard, but his vision was still intact. For now.

He'd been right; she was staring. That, he'd been expecting. What he hadn't been, though, was the condemnation in that dark brown glare, something dark, a stunning contrast to the confused plea he'd seen written in her eyes last time he'd seen her.

He moved his lips on instinct before the pieces of metal in his mouth stopped him from speaking. He hated this damn muzzle with every fibre of his being but quickly willed his thoughts to go another way. He couldn't think about his tongue being held down in a way that made him gag every time he gave it a second thought. Or, about the metal pressing into the skin just under his chin. Or, how he _couldn't speak._

Anger was burning through his body now, along with magic, and he slowly pushed himself in a sitting position. _Talk_ , his eyes demanded. The woman complied, but her words were more of a quiet hiss. Very quiet.

He was almost sure the cameras couldn't pick it up.

"Your game ends here."

He wouldn't answer even if he could.

"It was a nice try, I'll give you that, but I know who you are. See, that makes the situation completely different. I so won't try to help you escape. The sad thing is, I probably would have if you hadn't tried to manipulate me. But, you are certainly not going to use me any further. And, you know what—you've made me very, very angry at you. I don't like feeling things like that. You really do deserve being held here, and I'm totally hoping your punishment will be hard enough."

Loki blinked, drawing his eyebrows together. His mind was working hard to connect her words under the blanket of fog that was getting thicker and thicker. His pulse shouldn't be so fast, breathing not so demanding, nor the edges of his vision so blurred.

The impulse to stop her came only after she'd already turned and walked to the door as slowly and silently as she'd come in. He bit it back. Speaking was not an option. Answering questions didn't have any sense. What he had to say didn't matter.

He let himself fall onto his back, noticing the cloth that had fallen off his forehead for a moment.

It was getting worse. He thought he was going to be sick. That would be glorious, suffocating on his own vomit. Then again, it would stop the fire tearing him apart.

The magic shouldn't kill him. Wouldn't. Most likely.

His hands gripped the sheets under him with a force that made his knuckles turn white. He swallowed. His vision was getting eaten away by dark spots, another tiny speck of black joining the cover coming down on his eyesight with every laboured breath he took.

What did it matter?

Slowly, "life" was starting to join "fine" in a place somewhere outside of his vocabulary.


	7. Not really a chapter

So... Because of my terrible laziness (bad excuse, I know), I won't cross post the whole fic here. Sorry. But you can find it on ff.net if you still want to read it. 

~shades

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: You can find the story on ff.net, too (same username).
> 
> ~shades


End file.
